Suicide violates the imago Dei, the image of God with which we are created, and that is simply idolatry.
“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
― Ernest Hemingway
ON THIS DAY I COMPLETE MY THIRTY-SIXTH YEAR Lord Byron ’TIS time this heart should be unmoved, Since others it hath ceased to move: Yet, though I cannot be beloved, Still let me love! Had she lived to an old age, Marilyn Monroe would have turned 91 last week. That’s hard to imagine. She shares […]
Make me to hear of joy and gladness that the bones which thou hast broken may rejoice.
THE LILAC IS AN ANCIENT SHRUB Emily Dickinson The Lilac is an ancient Shrub But ancienter than that The Firmamental Lilac Opon the Hill Tonight— The Sun subsiding on his Course Bequeathes this final plant To Contemplation—not to Touch— The Flower of Occident. Of one Corolla is the West— The Calyx is the Earth— […]
A MOVEABLE FEAST Ernest Hemingway If I walked down by different streets to the Jardin du Luxembourg in the afternoon I could walk through the gardens and then go to the Musée du Luxembourg where the great paintings were that have now mostly been transferred to the Louvre and the Jeu de Paume. I went […]
from THE IMITATION OF CHRIST Thomas à Kempis He who learns to live the interior life and to take little account of outward things, does not seek special places or times to perform devout exercises. A spiritual man quickly recollects himself because he has never wasted his attention upon externals. No outside work, no business […]